A woman starts reading off names, in a clipped tone. Jean shakes his head at the first two; then another alarm goes off, adding to the several that are currently blaring and increasing the general chaos of the room. "Fuck," Jean interrupts, "is that Vulcan? Someone tell me that's Vulcan."

The man at that terminal shakes his head. "Message didn't make it through the bounces. I'll resend, but it's not going to make it in time."

Jean curses, again, this time in French and rather more extended. "We just need to stall -- we just need time -- Epsilon, can we arrange something they can see from orbit, doesn't matter what it is, just something to make them stop and reevaluate the situation..."

"Jean," Zari interrupts, "I've got someone on-planet who might have a shuttle, we could get a couple of people off, come talk to them--"

She hasn't finished speaking before he's taken the headset from her and is talking rapidly into it, hand over his other ear.

On about half of the dozen screens in the room, the USS Orpheus continues to hang in the blackness of space, looming over the planet, with its Genesis Device prepped and armed for firing.

Jean is wrapped around his sister, who's sitting on the floor, holding him and stroking his hair and, very quietly, crying into it. Flambeau is visible through the open door, outside, looking up at the sky. Two women are kissing. Another is having a panic attack in a corner. Two men and a woman are bent over consoles, intently focused, holding hands in between typing. A woman is talking into her communicator with the calm of bone-deep terror.

It's a bright streak, when it comes, like a falling star, only visible for a fraction of a second --

-- and then an earthquake, and an unspeakably loud noise --

-- and then there's a wall of greengreengreen rushing at her like a breaking wave, almost too fast for the eye to follow --

-- and just as quickly it's past her and out of sight in the other direction.

There's grass everywhere, and creeping plants, bushes and shrubbery, and a river not far away, where before there had only been rock and dust. There's flowers blooming, and vines on the walls of the buildings, and the faint noises of insects.

The plants are still growing, though it takes a moment to see it, now -- tendrils reaching out just quickly enough to be seen, most of them, leaves unfurling, fruits swelling and ripening. A few are growing faster, young trees climbing steadily upwards.

“Several million people just didn’t die when they expected to. Some will have done things they’re going to regret - and whoever sent that bomb is going to want to try again. If I could do this alone I would, but I’m centuries out of date. This world needs you. You, specifically. Stop being shocked and tell me what I need to do.”

The next room is a comfortably arranged sitting room. There's a couch and overstuffed armchairs and a coffee table and some kind of boxy device occupying most of one wall with a shelf of mismatched mugs next to it.